


Raising The Stakes

by Otonymous



Category: MLQC: Fandom, love and producer, 恋与制作人 | Liàn Yǔ Zhì Zuò Rén | Mr. Love: Queen's Choice (Video Game)
Genre: Edging, F/M, Masturbation, Mention of slightly rough physical behaviour, Sex Toys, Sexting, a hint of angst, break-ins, slight D/s overtones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otonymous/pseuds/Otonymous
Summary: Learn the consequences of trying to one-up Lucien.(Based on the prompt: "You should've stopped when you still could.")
Relationships: Xǔ Mò | Lucien/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 101





	Raising The Stakes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear readers!
> 
> This fic is basically a bag of kinks so please take note of the potential trigger warnings listed in the tags above! With that being said, I hope you all enjoy it! 
> 
> Happy reading! :)

You thought you knew loneliness, but you were wrong. It wasn’t the easy solitude existing before; coming home to an empty apartment and slipping into a bed you knew would be cool to the touch. No one asking whether you’d be working late. No ready smile waiting on the other side of the door.

The loneliness _after_ is a cut from a different blade; a yearning so pungent and sharp it flavoured the days of your life to incite a hunger more savage than any you’ve ever known, gnawing from within as you wait and wait…

…waiting for a lover’s return.

You clench at the sheets, messy thoughts jumbling in a sleepless brain until you finally give in and reach for the smartphone on your bedside table. Swiping across the screen, you summon it to life; bathe in its cool light as it banishes the suffocating darkness of night. 

Open your voicemail. Scroll to that saved message. Press play, just one more time. Let his voice wash over you like a compulsion soothing the beast of obsession.

_“Don’t worry about me over here, foolish girl. The only thing you need to do is take care of yourself. Eat well and make sure you’re getting enough sleep. And remember, if there’s anything you need, anything at all, I’m only a phone call away.”_

A pause, then his words like a caress:

_“I love you.”_

How many times did you listen to that message? You had lost track in the days since Lucien’s work took him overseas. They bled, one into the other, the flow of time indistinguishable like water in a stream without your lover by your side to mark the transitions with each tender moment shared:

Lunches fed from hand to smiling mouth under the shade of a camphor tree, tucked away from the eyes of staff and students alike on a hidden path just outside his research centre. 

Sleepovers for two with your handsome neighbour; laughing at the irony of the term when your breath wasn’t being stolen by the slide of his body within yours.

Dawn-drenched kisses and breakfast in bed. Smiling at each other’s reflections in the bathroom mirror whenever elbows knocked to produce foamy-mouthed giggles as you brushed your teeth side by side.

Lucien’s toothbrush sits still on your bathroom counter. A hostage, you had teased him, to be exchanged upon its owner’s return.

_“You’re forever bound to me now. There’s no choice but to come back.”_ Your laughter had faltered through a voice choked by tears, seeping through fine cotton to wet the broad expanse of Lucien’s chest as he lingered at your door, luggage resting by the heels of his polished Oxfords.

He had drawn you closer then, pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as long fingers gathered a lock of your hair to pass under that Grecian nose, inhaling deep. And when he whispered with such solemnity, _“As if anything could ever keep me away,”_ you had all but forgotten your joke.

The screen of your phone goes dark, and the reflection staring back at you is a bitter pill to swallow. Your cheeks had lost a bit of their roundness, your eyes dimmed by tears you only allowed yourself to cry in the dead of night — the times you missed him most.

You had told Lucien nothing about this, of course; was careful to slip on the mask of one so consumed with work that it left little time to consider much else, let alone an absent lover. It felt silly, that a grown woman should pine to the point where food became flavourless and sleep elusive.

_Well then, grown woman, deal with it._

And you had. Threw yourself wholeheartedly into work to the point where even Victor Li was marginally impressed with the report you submitted the first week Lucien was gone. Anna, Willow, Kiki and Minor had done their best in the following days, inviting you to dinners after work and distracting you with hilariously off-key karaoke performances. But now with the end of the month drawing near, your veneer of strength was starting to crack.

You missed Lucien. The smell of him: crisp and clean with a hint of masculinity that tugged at your core. Missed his weight upon you, the softness of your limbs yielding to his muscle and sinew. Dreamt of his breath; phantom wildfire searing over wet flesh to drive you mad with desire.

So crazy, in fact, that you aren’t even thinking when you dial his number, the ringing merely a backdrop to the echo of your pounding heart as one hand makes its way beneath lace to feel the moisture pooling between lips swollen with need.

_“You’ve reached Lucien Xu. Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”_

Your eyes close at the sound of that deep voice, pulse quickening as it keeps pace with the throbbing that grew in intensity beneath the movement of desperate fingers, rubbing in tight circles further down, down…

Down, in that place where the professor loved to settle; lips, fingers and tongue moving soft, slow, nimble and quick — agile to adapt to the writhing of your body on his mouth.

_Beep._

In your current state, it doesn’t quite register that every moan and breathless sigh of his name is being recorded, so caught up are you in holding the tremulous image of your lover in your mind even as your fingers conjured up the thickness of his cock, sliding in and out of your body in a pale imitation of the real thing.

Still, it did the trick. And as you cried out, walls contracting to clamp down on your own hand, you miss the dull tone that sounds, signalling the end of a message you were too blissed out to realize had been delivered.

* * *

_Buzz._

You awake to your pillow vibrating once before you realize your phone was still next to your ear, halfway buried beneath disheveled hair. The sunlight peeking bright through the slats of your blinds makes you wonder if you had somehow slept through your alarm, but the time indicated you still had half an hour before rising.

Scanning your notifications, you see a text from Lucien. Smiling, you open your messages…and promptly drop your phone to the floor as you suddenly bolt upright in bed, frantically blinking off the morning haze to clear your vision.

_Oh my god._

Reaching out a shaky hand to retrieve your phone, you check the message again. Study it intently. Bring the screen up close to ensure this was no mere trick of the eye. For even though the photo was cropped mid-torso, the muscular V-line disappearing past the waistband of the loosened dress pants undoubtedly belonged to Lucien.

As did the massive cock standing at stiff attention, gripped at its base by long, elegant fingers you’d recognize anywhere given the number of times you’d worshipped them in your mouth.

No accompanying words. No explanation. Just the image of something - _someone -_ you wanted so badly it ignited a dangerous spark from deep within all over again. You check the time: fifteen minutes before your alarm goes off. _That’ll be enough,_ you decide, sinking back beneath the covers as your fingers find your clit.

That morning, you leave your apartment positively glowing.

* * *

**To:** LucienXu@LucidBiotechRsch.com  
**From:** Papillon@gmail.com  
**Subject:** Morning Commute

> _“On the subway today, I imagined you standing behind me. Inching closer and closer with each passing stop as people flood the space around us. The buckle of your belt would press cool and hard at my back, and below that, your erection — solid, like the steel tracks upon which the train was moving. I’d hear the soft sound of your zipper sliding down, signalling my obedient hands to lift the hem of my skirt — just enough to preserve a shred of modesty in light of the fact that I had neglected to wear panties. For you see, professor, all this time…I had been waiting for you to come to me.”_

You hit the send button, a frisson of excitement shooting electric through your body as you close your laptop, trying to envision Lucien’s face when he wakes to your email in his inbox. 

It is, in fact, _you_ that are left shaking when you receive his reply the next morning.

**To:** Papillon@gmail.com  
**From:** LucienXu@LucidBiotechRsch.com  
**Subject:** Bountiful Harvests

> _“Peaches, my love, are currently in season in this part of the world. They filled the baskets at the farmer’s market yesterday, the same one I pass on my commute to and from the research institute. Round, ripe and fragrant, they infused the air with their sweet scent, and my thoughts found their way to you, as they often do. This time, I saw you lying on the hood of my car on that abandoned strip of road. Remembered the tiny goosebumps that dotted your soft skin whenever the evening breeze blew, the fine lace of your underwear hanging about your delicate ankle. Smiled when I thought of your tender flesh beneath my fingers, spreading to reveal glistening fruit and the most intoxicating fragrance. It awoke in me a hunger so primal it could only be sated by the flavour of your delicious peach on my tongue.”_
> 
> _“I can taste your sweetness even now, butterfly. You should know that each passing day is filled with the torturous prod of my unfulfilled desire for you. Continue provoking me as you have done, and I cannot be held accountable for any consequences.”_

And there, in the warning that signed off on your lover’s message, a seed of mischief was planted in the fertile soil of your imagination.

* * *

Its heft was strangely comforting as it gradually warmed in your palm, the fingers of your other hand running over the smooth surface of the glass dildo as you took another deep breath to calm your racing heart.

You had chosen the one he’d liked, the one Lucien had gravitated to in the adult toy shop he persuaded you to enter not long before he went overseas. _“Let’s just see what’s inside, shall we? We don’t have to buy anything if you’re not yet comfortable,”_ he said then, as breezily as if he were shopping for a sweater. Thus enticed, you had stood with burning cheeks, watching as he picked up the sleek, glass dildo — elegant and beautifully shaped; no less a work of art than a tool for pleasure. 

_“This one’s perfect. I’d love to see it spread your pretty pink flesh from the inside when I slide it into your pussy.”_

Lucien’s words came back to haunt you just when you brought the toy to the register. You had lowered your head even further, sheepishly hoping the cashier wouldn’t notice just how red you had become.

No matter. You were absolutely determined to give Lucien the surprise of his life.

And so it was that you found yourself crawling to the head of your bed after pressing record on the phone set up at the foot, lying back against pillows piled high to prop yourself up until the screen was filled with an image of you, clad in nothing but one of Lucien’s dress shirts.

You think of your lover as you unbutton the shirt, shivering slightly as you pull back the panels to expose your breasts. Close your eyes to imagine him above you when you spread your legs. Taste him in your mouth when your tongue peeks out to lick the glass head. Allow your saliva to run copiously down the column like it was Lucien’s flesh in your hands.

Then, looking straight into the camera, you slowly…slowly…push the dildo in to its hilt, moaning his name as you do.

* * *

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for a full minute! Are you coming down with something? You’ve been really out of it these past few days.”

Anna frowns, brows knit together with worry when she suddenly puts a hand to your forehead. You start at the touch before looking up from your computer, warmed to the core by the motherly gesture.

“I-I’m fine, thanks. Just a bit tired, that’s all.” Conjuring up as bright of a smile as you could, you hope to pass your coworker’s sharp-eyed inspection. It was hard to keep anything from the woman who had known you for ages, but it wasn’t as if you were lying…completely.

For the truth of the matter was that you _were_ tired, having spent the previous two nights lying awake in bed and agonizing over why Lucien hadn’t responded to your video. No texts. No emails. No phone calls. Regardless of how many times you had tried to contact him.

At first you questioned whether he had actually seen it; perhaps it had failed to send. But that theory was dashed when your message was clearly marked as read. Perhaps it displeased him in some way. Was it too daring, too out of character? Did he find it vulgar? Well, even so, the least he could’ve done was respond when you had gone out of your way to leave yourself so horribly exposed and vulnerable. On and on it went, the same frenetic thoughts racing through a frantic mind. Sleep, when it _did_ come, was fitful to say the least.

“Your eyes are glazing over again.”

Anna’s voice draws you back to your surroundings — the bustle of your coworkers as they begin packing up for the day. Sighing, her lips press together in a defeated smile as she reaches over your shoulder to turn off your monitor.

“Go home and get some rest. I’ll wrap up here.”

* * *

“Umph!”

You’ve barely entered your apartment before a large hand clamps over your mouth, effectively robbing you of the chance to scream. Another hand circles your wrist, pinning your arm behind your back to push you face-first against the wall. And though you cannot see the perpetrator, you can feel the tension emanating from taut muscles.

A swift kick is delivered to your front door, slamming it shut with a bang that elicits a muffled whimper from your lips. The fluorescent lights of the hallway outside recede to a tiny sliver peeking through the crack under the door, illuminating next to nothing in your darkened apartment. You hadn’t even had the chance to flip the light switch before you were accosted, dropping your keys and purse onto the floor of your entryway — even now being brushed aside by the swipe of impatient feet behind you.

Growing mindless with fear, you start to struggle like a cornered animal, squirming to push off the wall for even just an extra inch of space to make an escape, but to no avail. The person at your back is just too strong. They press harder against you, and despite your panicked state, there is no mistaking the erection that settles heavy over the cleft of your ass.

They lean in close, breath warm and moist on the back of your neck. You squeeze your eyes shut in dread anticipation of what might come next when they suddenly fly open at the sound of a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

“I warned you not to take it too far, butterfly; told you not to push me over the edge. You should’ve stopped when you still could. Now, however…” Lucien pauses, tongue licking a wet strip from the base of your neck to the nape, “…now, it’s too late.”

Before you could respond or even process the shock of your lover’s surprise appearance in your apartment, he releases his hold on your arm, impatient hand sliding up your skirt. Strong fingers grip the supple flesh of your buttocks, kneading forcefully to steal any and all questions from your lips. And when they gather your panties in a violent bunch to rip them clean off your body, your mind goes completely blank.

Lucien releases his hold on your mouth, his hands making their way up and under your blouse to tug on the cups of your bra, freeing your breasts into the warm embrace of his palms. You gulp lungfuls of air but it isn’t enough — never enough — to quell the way your heart races around him. Because his touch was a drug to which you had been faithfully conditioned, readily responding to his every move. Like your nipples, growing hard with each pinch and roll between his thumb and forefinger, puckering in a beautiful show to entice the professor to take them into his mouth.

But your lover was _much_ too impatient for that tonight.

“What will you do to me?” you ask, voice laced with a coy innocence to provoke, as was the subtle arch of your lower back — your ass grinding into the cock already straining hard against Lucien’s pants. For this was a side of him you had never seen before. There was no doubt he was an ardent lover: the man had proven the intensity of his passion many times over between the sheets. The novelty lay in the slip of his cool mask of control in his ironic exercise of it; in the hands that pinned you down, the body caging yours. The professor sought desperately to tame what had grown wild in his absence: your desire for him, and his insatiable hunger for you. And the knowledge made you wet.

“What _won’t_ I do?” he replies, the statement deceptively simple for all the possibilities lurking beneath that dark promise. He pulls away and from behind, you make out the clink of a belt unbuckling, a leather strap pulling smooth through the loops of trousers. You press your thighs together in anticipation.

“Eyes on the wall. Spread your legs.”

Your obedience is instantaneous, mind awash in a dopamine haze as you bow to the euphoria of yielding to him. And when he rewards you with a rich chuckle rising from deep within his throat, you are so happy you could cry.

“You’ve been a most wicked girl, teasing me so. First that phone call, then the email. But the video of your little performance, prima donna? That…that really was the last straw.”

The leather belt loops several times around your wrists, Lucien expertly binding your hands and resting them on the wall before you. Then you feel his hand settle on your thigh, tracing up and down its length before sliding towards your heat. Bending closer, your lover whispers soft against the shell of your ear.

“Do you know what it did to me, seeing you unravel so beautifully while being denied the opportunity to partake in your pleasure? No matter how many times I spilled by my own hand, it wasn’t enough. I needed you and yet you were out of reach. It was torture of the most exquisite kind.” 

His fingers approach your mound, stroke the hair at its apex with a few languid motions before his index begins its slow slide between flushed lips. You press your hands harder to the wall, bracing yourself against the tremble in your legs.

“I had to come back, butterfly…even if just for a day or two. It behoved me, as a professor, to teach you how it feels to be subjected to such inhumane treatment.” 

A second digit joins the first, gently parting your pussy to tease at its entrance. Fingertips delve into the slick moisture, gathering your juices to lubricate a circular path about your clit, swollen beneath its hood under the influence of Lucien’s touch.

“So you, my love, will be taught a lesson on delayed gratification. You will not come until I permit it, do you understand?”

His voice hardens, stern in a way that brooks no argument. You nod vigorously, biting hard on your lip to stem the rising tide of tension surging through your core at the sensation of his fingers inside you, reaching deeper and deeper until the wet sounds suffuse the otherwise quiet space.

“Good girl.” A hand wraps around your neck — gentle yet firm — turning your head until your lips meet his, your mouth open to welcome the taste of his tongue in a deep kiss. Lucien kisses with a fervour that leaves you breathless and you respond in kind, surrendering to his will, his very touch easing the visceral longing that had built up in the month he’d been away.

The professor feels you tense, catches the hitch in your throat that he’d learned was a tell-tale sign of an impending release. So his fingers slow, Lucien giving you a disapproving tut when you groan to feel them pull out, leaving you hollow just as you were a few seconds shy of convulsing around them.

“Shh, kitten. I know. It’s a horrible feeling, isn’t it? Wanting something _so badly_ but knowing you can’t have it. Not yet. I’m afraid you’ll just have to be content with this for now.”

His fingers flash before your eyes, and even in the dark, you can see the arousal stretching in thin strands between them. He brings the tips to your mouth, tracing along your lips before pushing past them to stroke your tongue, flooding you with the salt of your own flavour.

“I would ask how you taste, but I’ll find out soon enough.”

With that, Lucien whirls you around, and for the first time that night, you get a good look at him. He, too, had lost weight; the angles of his chiseled jaw looking sharper beneath the uncharacteristic stubble that darkened cheeks and chin. And despite the violet shadows beneath his eyes, the latter shone bright: the intensity of his want obvious through a shifting kaleidoscope of amethyst and onyx hues, the colour of his irises impossible to pin down. 

He lifts you in his arms, guiding your legs around his muscular waist as he makes his way to your dining room table, laying you upon its cool surface. He pulls your legs to the edge, pushing them further apart as he drops to his knees between your thighs, that beautiful face dipping towards your core. Lucien’s breath is hot, caressing your sensitized skin to make you twitch though he hadn’t even touched you. And when you finally feel his tongue — broad and flat as it licks from the base of your entrance to the clit — you clench your hands in tight fists, fighting back the orgasm that threatened to overwhelm you.

You couldn’t come yet. Not when you didn’t have the professor’s explicit permission.

Lucien recognizes your efforts, smiling when he lays a wet kiss on your clit as a reward before burying his face even deeper into your folds. Continuing to eat, he hums appreciatively, hands sliding beneath your ass to lift for better access as his tongue dips further into your entrance in a bid to taste you from within. His stubble scrapes rough against your flesh; a tinge of pain to enhance your pleasure.

“Lucien, I…I can’t…can’t hold it in-”

“You can and you will, kitten.” The professor’s voice is muffled, continuing to lap at your pussy even as you start to thrash about on the table, fighting to exercise control over minute contractions that were getting harder and harder to contain. You strain against the belt wrapped around your wrists, trying to distract yourself from the intense throbbing in your clit. At this point, keeping your release at bay for a moment longer seemed like a Sisyphean task.

At last, Lucien relents, planting another kiss on your pussy before rising to stand. He looks at you, trembling and spread on the dining table. Wipes his mouth on the back of his hand as the other pulls down the zipper on his slacks. He extracts himself with care, smiles to hear you gasp at the intimidating sight of him fully exposed. Wraps those long fingers around his cock to slide along its length solely for the sake of eliciting a desperate moan from your lips.

He aligns his cock with your entrance; you sense it twitching against your wetness. And when the head, hot and hard, slides along your slit, you cannot help but lift your hips. Lucien chuckles again, but this time, even he cannot hide the shaky breath that tells you that this is as torturous for him as it is for you.

Then finally… _finally_ …you feel him settle again at your entrance, feel the pressure of his push, the stretch of your skin before it gives and your lover is inside you once more, stroking hard and deep and so fast that you are already convulsing though Lucien had barely picked up his rhythm.

Your orgasm is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, the intensity of the sounds escaping your throat almost foreign to your ears as you inundate Lucien from within. Wave after wave of contractions traverse your body, taking much longer than usual to subside — undoubtedly spurred on by the way the professor continued to fuck you as he chased the ecstatic high of his own release. His hips snap ceaselessly against yours until he finally floods you, hot and deep, his arousal mixing with yours as his head settles on your chest to listen for the sound of your slowing heart.

* * *

“I can’t believe you caught the first available flight when you saw my video. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take you away from your work. I know how important it is—”

“Shh,” Lucien interrupts, planting a kiss on your forehead as he pulls the covers over the two of you, naked and snuggling on your bed. “Nothing is more important to me than you, butterfly. You know this. My research can wait for a day or two. Besides, that is not the most pressing matter at hand.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at him. “What is, then?”

Lucien’s handsome eyes narrow as his lips draw into a smile. “Well, there’s the issue of a _very_ disobedient kitten who came when she wasn’t given express permission to. And I intend to use the rest of today and tomorrow to correct her behaviour.”


End file.
